Cast: Denis Lavant, Edith Scob, Eva Mendes
Director: Leos Carax
Country: France | Germany
Genre: Drama | Sci-Fi
Official Trailer: Here
Anyone who doubts the truism that film functions as both art and commerce need only look at the decade-long (actually thirteen years) absence of the one-time ‘enfant terrible’ of French cinema, Leos Carax, from filmmaking. Carax’s last film, Pola X, didn’t just disappoint Carax’s financiers; it failed completely at the French and European box office. More importantly for Carax, it failed critically, leaving Carax adrift without financial support for the better part of a decade. No fan of digital filmmaking, Carax made the switch from celluloid to digital to help finance his latest film, Holy Motors, an unconventional, idiosyncratic ode to the history of cinema and Carax’s love letter to the cinema that defined, influenced, and, ultimately, sustained him (and still does).
Whether everything that follows is simply the sleeper’s cinematic dream(s) isn’t answered definitely (nothing in Holy Motors is)…
The key to the cinema-centered interpretation lies in the first scene where an unnamed hotel guest played by Carax himself slips out of a bed and approaches a wall covered with forest-themed wallpaper. The sleeper finds a hidden door and walks through a darkened corridor where he finds a theater filled with moviegoers raptly watching King Vidor’s 1928 silent classic, The Crowd. Whether everything that follows is simply the sleeper’s cinematic dream(s) isn’t answered definitely (nothing in Holy Motors is), but the scene segues to a wealthy businessman, Mr. Oscar (frequent collaborator Denis Lavant). Céline (Edith Scob), a limo driver, awaits Mr. Oscar. We soon learn he’s no ordinary businessman. He may not be a businessman at all. Oscar may not be his real name either. Céline passes him a folder containing an assignment, the first of many. The first assignment requires Mr. Oscar to transform himself into an old, homeless woman, ignored, lonely, alone.
Lavant’s character segues from the old woman to a motion-capture performer engaged in an exhausting sexual routine with an acrobatic partner; the return of M. Merde (French for “excrement”), an orange-haired, green-suited, chaotic force of libidinal energy Lavant first played four years ago in the three-part anthology film, Tokyo!, into the Beast to a Beauty played by Eva Mendes; a scarred gangster (or his possible double); an accordionist in a musical intermission leading a rousing, rock-inflected number inside a church or cathedral; middle-aged man coping with his daughter’s social ostracism; an elderly man on his deathbed comforting his grieving niece; and a (possibly) chance encounter with an ex-lover, Eva Grace (Jean) (Kylie Minogue), that naturally leads to Minogue’s character to break into plaintive song, Umbrellas of Cherbourg-style. More than one vignette suggests that Lavant’s character isn’t the only performer in the scene. Other players, other actors have their own sometimes complementary, sometimes contradictory roles, to fulfill.
Despite spending almost two hours with Lavant’s onscreen persona, we never get any closer to learning anything definitive about him. Even simple details like his real name, his age, where he was born (and raised), or, more importantly, the “true” traits of the character behind the characters never emerges. Even when we think we’re getting a glimpse into Lavant’s core character, Carax nimbly slips in a detail or an accumulation of details that, when read together, suggests we’re seeing yet another character. Alternatively, Lavant’s character, a performer by nature, temperament, and, presumably employment, can never set aside the performer’s mask. Even in the penultimate scene where Céline drops him off at an apartment complex for the night, it’s obviously not his “real” home, but yet another role for him to play.
Despite spending almost two hours with Lavant’s onscreen persona, we never get any closer to learning anything definitive about him.
While some filmmakers are more than eager to discuss their intentions and themes, some prefer to leave meaning and interpretation to critics and audiences. Even if they are, they might be less than truthful or simply unaware of the unconscious creative processes that led them to make a particular film. Carax seems to have been open to discussing Holy Motors’ meanings, but his comments shouldn’t be treated as definitive, but only as one among several (or many). In interviews, Carax has made claim to a different interpretation altogether: He wanted Holy Motors to reflect the various and diverse virtual identities, simultaneously true and untrue, we inhabit in non-corporeal, digital worlds every day.
Of course, there’s no written or unwritten rule that states a filmmaker or artist’s interpretation of his or her work should be given singular preference to the exclusion to all others. A filmmaker’s interpretation may be only one of several legitimate, non-mutually exclusive interpretations. And given the frequent, unmistakable references to cinema in general and films in particular, Carax may be simply engaging in obfuscation as a means or measure to distance himself from the deeply personal filmmaking evident in Holy Motors’ every frame and every sound.
[notification type=”star”]95/100 ~ AMAZING. Of course, there’s no written or unwritten rule that states a filmmaker or artist’s interpretation of his or her work should be given singular preference to the exclusion to all others. A filmmaker’s interpretation may be only one of several legitimate, non-mutually exclusive interpretations. And given the frequent, unmistakable references to cinema in general and films in particular, Carax may be simply engaging in obfuscation as a means or measure to distance himself from the deeply personal filmmaking evident in Holy Motors’ every frame and every sound. [/notification]
